


Septilogy

by niikaaa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Car Accidents, M/M, Other, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niikaaa/pseuds/niikaaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illicit beer, bad movies, and no more mentions of broken hearts. That's what Scott and Stiles have planned for the evening. One-shot. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Septilogy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really late to the party of tears and pain and overwhelming emotions that is Teen Wolf, so in terms of canon, I started writing this after Scott and Allison break up in S1 but before I found out that they get back together very shortly afterwards. I basically regard this as sort of parallel universe for that reason, because it's something that could have happened but very obviously did not. I think that's about it.

It was another Friday night in Beacon Hills.

Scott McCall’s mother had left for work just before 7:30. Stiles had shown up just after 8, toting a backpack stuffed with stolen beers and a stack of DVDs he gleefully informed Scott was “the absolute best worst science fiction septilogy ever made.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not actually a word,” Scott had protested, but Stiles was already past him into the living room. Scott followed him, allowing himself a single exasperated sigh as the sound of explosions and synthesized orchestral music blasted out of the speakers. Once upon a time he might have spent a night like this with Allison, but he wasn’t sure when, or if, he’d have that kind of opportunity again.

_Come on, man_ , he told himself. _Stiles came over to try and cheer you up. You could at least give him half a chance_.

“So what’s this movie about?” Scott asked, cracking open one of the beers. Stiles leapt up onto the couch next to him.

“Earth. Year 5000. Humans have basically digitized themselves completely and exist pretty much entirely as computerized brains in giant robot suits. Nature retaliated against the cyborgs by evolving, like, thirty-foot wasps and spiders and stuff. And they fight each other using some of the worst special effects ever created. And it’s awesome.”

“They made seven movies of this?” Scott asked incredulously. Stiles shrugged.

“The first three are the best, really,” he replied. “After that they started trying to get into the morality of everything and it all kind of went downhill. Although in the sixth one the insects also manage to develop giant robot suits, and–” He stopped abruptly. “Well, you’ll see.”

Scott just smiled. Speaking from experience, Stiles’ already short attention span would not be improved in any way with alcohol. He probably wouldn’t last twenty minutes, let alone six movies.

He was off by ten minutes. Half an hour and most of a beer later, Stiles had slid down onto the floor, pulling out his phone, flicking from app to app and only occasionally glancing up at the cyborg vs. insect action happening onscreen. Still, Scott didn’t mind. There was something comforting about this. Even though they were doing different things there was still that familiar connection between them. Little things like this were the reason Stiles was still his best friend and probably always would be.

Midway through the film, Stiles was totally engrossed in a Wikipedia article about…something. Scott couldn’t see what, but knowing Stiles it could be pretty much anything. Scott popped the cap off another beer and decided to start a one-man drinking game, taking a swig of beer every time he decided the CGI events on screen could not be topped as the absolute worst the movie had to offer. He knew it was a terrible decision, but he didn’t realize just how awful until ten minutes later when the bottle was already empty.

_Probably best we just suffer through the rest of it without getting any drunker_ , he thought. There was no plot to speak of other than what Stiles had explained to him, but it was still entertainingly bad, at least. Still, with the absence of anything to really keep his mind from wandering, he found himself thinking about Allison again. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice that the movie had ended and the DVD had looped back to the obnoxious explosions-and-orchestra menu screen, or that Stiles had set down his phone and was in the process of downing a fifth beer as he stared absently past the television at the wall.

Eventually the TV shut itself off and the sudden stillness pulled them both back. Scott waited for Stiles to say something, anything to fill the silence. Nothing. The quiet began to feel uncomfortable, but Scott still wasn’t sure what to do.

Finally, Stiles stirred, picking up a nurse angel statuette someone had given Scott’s mother once and turning it over in his hands.

“I think I’m over Lydia,” he said without looking at Scott.

“You’ve said that about twice a month every day since third grade,” Scott teased. Stiles put the angel back and turned around to face Scott.

“No, I think…I think I’m really over her this time.”

Something in his eyes was unusually serious, and Scott immediately sobered.

“Why?”

Stiles looked down, now fiddling with the volume buttons on the side of his phone.

“I just, like…I realized I’m not really in love with Lydia, you know?” He shrugged, looking up at Scott for a second before dropping his gaze. “I was in love with the idea of being in love with Lydia.” A deep breath followed by a long, slow exhale. “I mean, what did I really know about her? Aside from the things everybody knows.”

Scott was surprised to hear this kind of thing coming from Stiles. He had been pretty sure his best friend was going to pine over Lydia Martin until the end of high school, at least. Maybe forever. But this…he hadn’t expected anything like this. Which also meant he had no idea how to respond.

“How did you figure that out?” he asked, feeling really stupid for not having anything else to say. Stiles looked up at him, and Scott was surprised again to see how red Stiles’ eyes were.

“I was, um, I mean, I just happened to be in Dad’s office today, and I saw an envelope on his desk.” Was that a tremor in Stiles’ voice, or was Scott imagining it? “It…it had my name on it.” Stiles looked down again, biting his lip, and then added, “In Mom’s handwriting.”

Stiles coughed, trying to cover the break in his voice. Scott pretended not to notice.

“I guess she wrote it when she knew that she wasn’t gonna be around to see me grow up,” Stiles continued. “And that was one of the things she talked about. Making sure your heart’s in the right place and you’re motivated by the right thing or whatever. And I realized, when it came to Lydia, it just…wasn’t. I mean, I just…well, you heard what I said.” He shrugged again, and suddenly his entire mood shifted. “Anyways, so yeah. I am officially 100% almost starting to get over her. You gonna finish that?”

It took a second until Scott realized Stiles was referring to the ounce or so of beer still left in the bottle Scott had been drinking from. He pulled a face.

“No way. It’s warm by now. And besides, haven’t you had enough?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but then nodded with exaggerated reluctance.

 “You’re probably right. Which means, it’s time for movie _numero dos._ ”

Scott briefly considered protesting, but given the emotional weight of the conversation they’d just had, he figured it might just be better to let Stiles do whatever he was going to do. Even if that meant subjecting himself to another hour and a half of bad B-movie thrills.

As the second film screamed its way along in a manner basically indistinguishable from the first, Stiles launched into an incredibly detailed retelling of how one of the dozens of gory insect deaths was accomplished not through CGI but instead an elaborate set-up involving a twelve-gauge shotgun, a variety of overcooked vegetables, and several flavours of Jell-O with sour cream mixed in. Scott tried to pay attention, but keeping his eyes open was becoming a struggle. Somewhere between cauliflower and large-caliber bullets, he suddenly had a feeling that there was something else Stiles wanted to tell him, but for whatever reason was holding it back. But the feeling passed as quickly as it had come and as his mind continued to drift, he forgot about it completely.

 

Scott was startled awake some time later by the sound of the house phone ringing, nearly falling off the couch. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep. It took him a minute to locate one of the cordless extensions on the end table, and he almost dropped it as he picked it up. _So much for badass werewolf reflexes._

“Hello?” he answered blearily, worrying it was his mother and hoping he just sounded tired and not drunk, even though he wasn’t actually sure if he was even drunk but knowing that if he was and there was any way his mother could pick up on it, she would.

“Scott?”

“Sheriff Stilinski?” Scott asked, becoming very suddenly and very painfully aware that neither Stiles nor his backpack were anywhere to be seen. “Um, what can I do for you?”

“Is Stiles with you?” the Sheriff asked. There was something in his voice that Scott wasn’t used to, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. “I got home from work late and he’s not here. His Jeep isn’t here either, and I just thought the most logical place for him to be would be at your house.”

Scott knew what he was hearing in the sheriff’s voice now.

Desperation.

“Um, hang on,” Scott replied, walking out into the kitchen to find a window overlooking the driveway.

The Jeep wasn’t parked in front of the house.

“Oh, God,” Scott said aloud, and then realized that the Sheriff could still hear him, and that the Sheriff probably knew that there were a dozen or so beers missing from the fridge.

“He’s not here,” Scott replied, unable to believe the words even as he said them. Maybe Stiles hadn’t driven over in the first place. Maybe he’d dropped off that piece of crap Jeep at the mechanic’s and then walked the rest of the way.

_Maybe you should stop lying to yourself,_ Scott thought darkly _. You let him drink way more than he should have and then you just fell asleep. You knew he had things on his mind. You knew he was upset about something even though he wouldn’t tell you but you were still perfectly content to just blissfully abandon him. Way to go, Scott. Some friend you are._

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Scott said in a rush, the apology doing nothing to ease the guilt slamming down onto him. “I fell asleep. I should have kept a better eye on him, especially since…” He stopped, realized that the sheriff might not know that Stiles knew about the letter and unsure if he should betray that particular detail. “Especially since we were drinking.” The confession felt heavy, even though he knew the Sheriff had already figured that part out.

“I’m going out to look for him,” the Sheriff said, after a long pause. Scott wished he knew what that pause meant.

“I could go too,” Scott offered weakly. He could almost hear Sheriff Stilinski shaking his head.

“Not sure that’s such a good idea, with everything else that’s been going on in this town at night. Just stay there. Call me if anything comes up.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott offered again. He heard Sheriff Stilinski exhale slowly. For a second, Scott wondered if he was going to cry.

“Goodnight, Scott.” _Click._

Scott slammed the phone back onto its base and let out something halfway between a curse and a growl, then grabbed his phone, his jacket, and his keys. He couldn’t sit back and do nothing until he knew his best friend was all right.

_And if he’s not all right?_ the nasty little voice whined. Scott shook his head, ignoring it.

That wasn’t even an option.

 

Scott loped down the road, scanning with every ounce of preternatural werewolf senses he could muster. He had to fight to keep his breathing even, to keep the panic at bay.

Still, every sound, every flicker of movement in the darkness set his heart racing, twisted the knot in his stomach, threatened to pull him down into a weeping mess by the side of the road.

And then he saw a metallic shape against the trees, a familiar boxy frame picked out by the dim light of a crescent moon, and suddenly he couldn’t run fast enough.

As he got closer, he realized the angles were all wrong. Up was sideways, panels that should have been smooth were crushed in and dented, and there in the middle of it all, crowned with blood and broken glass, was Stiles.

Scott had ripped off the passenger door before he managed to get control of himself. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath before daring to look again.

“Scott,” Stiles coughed, stretching a shaking hand upwards. Scott swallowed hard.

_You shouldn’t move him_ , whined the voice. _He might have a spinal injury. You could paralyse him for life. How’d you like to live with that, Scott?_

“I know you’re thinking about my potential spinal injuries right now but I’m pretty sure I can feel both my legs because there’s something stabbing into one of them pretty hard and if you could either get me out or flip the Jeep back up the right way I’d really appreciate it?” Stiles was trying to keep his tone light, but then he coughed and Scott saw more blood and he knew he couldn’t leave his best friend there.

The next minutes were a blur of adrenaline and panic as Scott struggled to get Stiles free of the wreckage. Everything felt too real, from the shards of safety glass grating on his skin to the slick blood that seemed to coat everything he touched.

But somehow he managed it, and he collapsed against the roof of the Jeep with Stiles cradled against his chest.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Scott asked, trying to keep his voice even for both of their sakes.

“I know, Scott,” Stiles replied, his voice pleading. “I’m sorry. It was stupid. I should have stayed at your house, but…”

“But what?”

Stiles shook his head. Scott decided to drop it for now, and instead began using his free hand to work his cell phone out of his pocket. There were more important things to focus on, like calling for help.

“Which is going to be really difficult with a dead phone,” he said quietly as the screen stayed black.

“I have mine…” Stiles started, but his tone immediately changed as he added, “but it’s in there somewhere.”

“It’s okay. Your dad’s out looking for you,” Scott said, trying to sound encouraging and knowing he wasn’t doing a very good job. “He’ll get here eventually. Can you be okay until then?”

Stiles nodded, but he was starting to shake pretty badly and Scott knew he had already lost too much blood. If the Sheriff didn’t find them soon…

Scott looked upwards, his eyes tracing the path of a satellite across the sky. It wasn’t really a shooting star, and he was too old to believe in wishes, but he made one anyways.

They stayed that way for a long time, Stiles’ labored breathing the only sound, until he turned slightly to look up at Scott.

“Hey, um, I’m sorry.”

Scott frowned, his hand unconsciously moving up to rest on the back of Stiles’ head.

“For what?”

“Just…things I did, I guess. I wasn’t always…I should have been a better friend to you sometimes, you know?”

Scott was stroking Stiles’ hair now, but neither of them seemed to be aware of it.

“Why are you talking like this is the last conversation we’re ever gonna have?” Scott asked.

Stiles didn’t answer. He was shivering even harder than before.

“Don’t do the silent thing, Stiles,” Scott pleaded. “Not now. Please.”

“Y’know, you’re really cute when you do the alpha take charge look after everybody thing,” Stiles said suddenly, his words slurring together. “I think you’re supposed to be scarier.” He laughed, seeming almost giddy for a second, then suddenly grew serious. “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Scott asked. Stiles half-smiled.

“You’re cute, like, all the time, actually, and I’d probably ask you to kiss me right now if my mouth wasn’t full of blood.”

Somehow, Scott wasn’t really surprised by this revelation. He just wished it could have come under almost any other circumstances.

“What if I kissed you anyway?”

Stiles shrugged and managed a smile.

“Up to you, I guess.”

And that bashful grin, that “I think I may have crossed a line again but I promise it was with the best of intentions” expression that was so perfectly typically Stiles, was what made Scott’s decision to kiss him so easy.

It still didn’t entirely eliminate the shock of _this is my best friend I am kissing my best friend_ , and Scott automatically opened his eyes and flinched back, regretting it immediately when he saw the hurt briefly flash through Stiles’ eyes.

“I’m sorry this is stupid I never should have said anything,” Stiles muttered, but before he could say more Scott was kissing him again.

It was almost enough to take Scott’s mind off what was happening, except for the metallic taste of blood.

The kiss ended, and Stiles settled back against Scott’s chest. His breathing seemed easier now, and Scott started to allow himself the hope that maybe things might be okay.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked, stroking Stiles’ hair again. “Why didn’t you just stay over like you have literally every other time?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Stiles replied sleepily. “Too tired.” He was definitely slipping. Scott could hear it in the way his words ran together, see it in the way his eyes never opened more than halfway.

“Fine. We don’t have to talk about it. Just stay with me.” Scott could feel tears closing off his throat. “You can’t just drop a confession like that on me and then pass out, come on.”

Stiles didn’t respond, so Scott grabbed his probably-broken wrist and squeezed once, hard. Stiles yelped and looked up at him, eyes glazed with pain but definitely brighter.

“That _hurt_.”

“It was supposed to.”

Scott’s hand found Stiles’ and they laced their fingers together unconsciously.

“Don’t fall asleep, okay?” Scott whispered.

“Keep me awake, then,” Stiles said, smiling weakly.

For a moment Scott thought that they might be all right, but then Stiles started to cough again, his entire body wracked with pain. There was blood running from his nose and the corner of his mouth and the sight sent fresh terror through Scott.

“Stiles, it’s okay. Keep breathing. You’re okay. We’re gonna get through this.”

“Tell my dad…” Stiles began, only to be interrupted by another fit of coughing. “Tell him I’m sorry. You’ve gotta do that for me. He’s gonna be alone now, and it’s my fault.”

“He’s not going to be alone. You’re not going to die, Stiles. You still need to tell me more things than I ever possibly needed to know about really terrible B-movie special effects. You’re my Yoda, remember?” Scott was trying to smile but the fear was too much. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks. “You’re my best friend. You can’t die. You just…you can’t.” A frantic idea occurred to him. “The bite…”

Stiles shook his head. “You know it’s too late, Scott. I wouldn’t survive it anyway.” His grip on Scott’s hand tightened suddenly. “Just promise…promise me you won’t blame yourself for this. It was my mistake. There are people back there who need you and you can’t spend the rest of your life beating yourself up over this, okay?”

“ _I_ need you,” Scott begged. “Stiles, _please_!” He was practically screaming now.

“It’s Return of the Jedi, Scott,” Stiles said, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. “I mean, Luke Skywalker did okay without Yoda in that one, and you’re way more competent than he was. You’ll be okay.” He offered an apologetic half-smile as his eyes met Scott’s one more time before drifting closed.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Stiles’ chest rose, fell, and did not rise again.

“Stiles, I…” Scott started to say, but there was no point finishing.

The “gift” of his heightened senses allowed him to hear the exact moment Stiles’ heart stopped beating.

Scott knew he would spend the rest of his life wishing his had stopped too.

**Author's Note:**

> I was told that I had to include the phrase, "bad things happen and then worse things happen" as it was the basic summary given while attempting to come up with a title, so Jo, this is for you. I hope you're not mad that I put it at the end.


End file.
